


Nothing Left to Say

by canofwhoopasstiel



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Character Death, Fluff, M/M, deaf!Marco, i tried so hard, o weel what can yah do, this goes downhill pretty quickly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:05:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1424521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canofwhoopasstiel/pseuds/canofwhoopasstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jean Kirstein body checks a guy on his way to detention, he didn't realize he'd soon be labeled as "that guy who beat up the deaf kid."</p><p>He also didn't realize "the deaf kid" would be really hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is literally my first fic EVER so I'm really sorry if it's too short or its ooc or what have you.  
> I wrote it for my best friend's birthday. (shan u better like this or i'll cry)

_If I’m late for detention one more time, I’m pretty sure my calculator will be shoved so far down my throat it comes out of my ass._

Jean shoved through the crowds of students that blocked the hallway, chatting with their stupid friends or stopping _right in the middle_ of the hall to make out with their “babes” and “sweethearts.” Jean wanted to knock their teeth out as he weaved in between a particularly explicit and public afterschool make out session and ran around the corner. He was pretty sure his math teacher would triple his already doubled detentions if he was late. Levi Smith, who would rather die than be called Mr. _Anything_ , seemed to have it out for him, but Jean was just lucky he wasn’t Eren Jaeger, who might as well have built a tiny house with a picket fence and garden to match in detention hall considering how often he was in there.

It wasn’t his fault he was always late: English class was on the other side of the school and Levi expected him to be in the classroom not five minutes after the bell had rang. It was fucking impossible to make it on time unless he ran. At this point he wondered if he should just go out for track; he had the legs for it now.

Skidding around another corner, he heard a familiar shout of his name coming from the bio lab as he sprinted past. Ignoring the call, he kept running, hearing a laughing female voice behind him say, “Shut up, Con. It’s Wednesday. Detention, reme…” It faded as he finally turned into the math wing of Trost High. It was a beautiful thing; he was actually a minute early. No grating insults from Professor Protractor from Hell or snarky laughter behind him from Jaeger _bombastic_ for getting chewed out again.

He could see the detention room at the end of the hall, lights on and door ajar, urging him to make it on time, when a body suddenly stepped in front of him and the collision sent them both sprawling across the floor. A pain exploded in both Jean’s chest and back as the shoulder that jammed into his lungs knocked him into the ground. Squinting his eyes shut, he propped himself up onto his elbows. “Jesus Christ,” he wheezed. “Watch where you’re fucking going.”

He stared at the dark haired boy who lay across from him, still lying flat on his back gasping. He wore a green sweater that was way too big on him, making the relatively tall boy look small in his clothes. He didn’t say anything so Jean called out again, “Seriously, didn’t you hear me coming?”

The boy finally sat up weakly and looked at Jean with a mild expression, stupid freckles covering the entirety of his stupid face. Jean waited for him to say something, an apology at least, and got nothing.

“Dude, what the hell? Are you deaf or something?!”

The boy was staring at his mouth as he shouted, unnerving Jean a little. Then a sad smile spread across his face and he slowly raised his hands. His fingers danced in a few patterns before it clicked.

He _was_ deaf.

A cold sweat ran down Jeans back—a sweat that could rival his classmate Bertholt—and he scrambled to find a proper apology. “I-I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know. Um…” he frantically wondered if he should continue, considering the guy couldn’t even _hear_ his apology.

The boy just smiled and scratched the back of neck. “It’s okay. Happens all the time. I can lip read really well so sometimes people don’t notice right away but…no avoiding it now.” His voice came out a little off kilter, like he was new at speaking English and was having a hard time with the pronunciation. “I’m Marco.”

“I’m Jean.” He held a hand out and helped Marco up off the ground, making sure to say the words really clearly with his lips. He had no idea if it was getting through to him or if it was just going in one ear and out—

Swearing internally, Jean refocused his gaze on Marco. Ignoring the fact that Marco was really fucking hot (his jaw line could probably cut glass, like what the hell is up with that), Jean waited patiently. He raised both eyebrows and Marco’s face slowly turned to one of confusion.

“Um…Yes?”

“You still haven’t apologized for knocking me down.” Jean internally shrugged at his nagging conscience. What? Just because the guy was deaf didn't mean he couldn’t take some damn responsibility for his actions.

Surprisingly, Marco laughed. And that actually sounded normal. If Jean was being honest, he’d even admit it was a nice laugh to listen to, but he was still rubbing his aching chest from where Marco body checked him.

Marco’s eyes crinkled as he said, “I like you. I’ve never seen someone recover that quickly.”

A heat spread over Jean’s cheeks as he exclaimed, “Recover from what? You body check people often or something?”

The idiot just smiled. “Recover from finding out I can’t hear. It takes a while for people to treat me normally again.”

Jean averted his gaze to the side, muttering, “I don’t see why. You’re just like everyone else.”

“Kirschtein!”

A loud bark echoed down the hall and Jean’s face whipped towards the sight of Levi, in all his five foot three glory, staring him down from the doorway of his class with enough ice to make a sequel to _Frozen_. More cold sweating ensued. He was giving Bert a run for his money today. “You are four minutes late and I catch you flirting with Bodt over there when you should be in my class, sitting your ass down and learning how to add two numbers together with Jaeger like the bloody preschool students you are.”

Marco reacted to Jean and stared down the hall, quickly avoiding the stare of the math teacher. With a sort of terrified smile, Marco gestured to Levi, who was now tapping his foot in quick succession. “Maybe you should go.”

Jean looked at him, the back of his mind screaming for him to sprint to the open door. “Yeah…I’ll see you around then, Marco.” He quickly jogged away, approaching his incoming death at a much greater speed than desired and just before Levi slammed the door shut behind them, he heard Marco’s awkward voice call out, “And _you_ body checked _me!_ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are really short. I'm sorry friends. Maybe the next chapter (when I get around to writing it) will be longer. *shrugs into infinity*

“So you actually _beat up_ the deaf kid?” Eren said as he shoved a fry in his mouth. “You must be some kind of sicko.”

“I didn’t beat him up!” Jean slammed his hands on the table, his face growing hot, and glared at him. The four of them were sitting in the crowded cafeteria, enjoying the best food that they could possibly get from a second rate kitchen run by a bunch of lazy public high school students: limp fries, greasy burgers with the browning lettuce people usually throw out of the salad bag and an limited selection of pop (i.e. Sprite or Coca-Cola). “We just bumped into each other!”

“And by ‘bumped into,’ you mean you decked him,” Connie snickered. Sasha laughed beside him, mouth still full with her burger, which was looking very well chewed and awfully moist.Jean shot a venomous look to the side, followed by one of disgust.

A little late coming from Ms. Zoe’s biology class (who often ‘treated’ her pupils to ‘super fun extended lessons,’) Armin and Mikasa came up to the tablewith trays full of the questionable food of the day. Mikasa slide into Eren’s open arm unconsciously, the two of them locking together as easily as they could breathe, and continued eating. Armin sat on the other side of Eren and shoved his bio textbook out of Sasha’s ‘splash zone.’ Tucking some blond hair behind his ear, he poked a fry into ketchup and asked calmly, “Are we talking about how Jean almost killed Marco Bodt yesterday?”

“Levi was going to _stab_ me multiple times with his compass if I was late one more time, and then this guy just appeared out of fucking _nowhere_ like—”

“Hey, Jean.”

Everyone jumped at the strange voice and standing there next to the end of the table, in all his full freckled glory, was Marco. His cheeks burned, but when he realized Marco didn’t hear what they had been talking about, he tried to calm down.He stood there with a sort of hopeful, lopsided smile on his face and was wearing a really big grey sweater that covered his hands and made him look fluffy and adorable, not that Jean actually thought he was _cute_ or anything, no, of course not. _Anyone_ would think he looked cuddly with that expression and that stupid sweater.

Jean was pretty sure his face was hotter than a crematorium.

“Ah, h-hey, Marco! Funny seeing you here!” Hearing Connie, Sasha and Eren laughing, Jean resisted the urge to kill _them_.

Marco gave an easy smile to the rest of the table. “Hi. I’m Marco. Sorry for interrupting you.”

“We know who you are.” Finally swallowing, Sasha scooted closerbench to Connie on the grey plastic table bench and left a wide open space between her and Jean, who was parked frozen at the end. “Come sit with us! It’ll be nice and cozy between us,” she offered with a mischievous glint in her eyes that mirrored Connie’s smile.

“I’m sorry. I missed that.” A moment of confusion flitted across Marco’s face until he realized what the gap was for. He held his hands up in surrender and his strange pronunciation wavered when he said, “I’m guessing you want me to join you? I’m sorry. I’m meeting up with my friends for lunch.” Jean noticed his hands twitched when he spoke, like he would prefer to be using sign language than actually talking. He suddenly wanted to relieve Marco’s anxiousness by letting him talk the way he was comfortable, but realized solemnly that he couldn’t understand sign language. “I just wanted to ask Jean if he was free sometime.”

A chorus of “oouhs” rang out from the table and Jean’s hands nervously bunched into fists. “Um sorry? What?”

Marco smiled easily at him with eyes twinkling (could eyes even _twinkle_ in real life, the fuck if Jean knew), as if he was interpreting the entire situation by everyone’s body language and found it amusing. “I don’t mean anything by it, of course. I’m just following up after Jean said we should hang out.”

The “oouhs” grew even louder from his side of the table, and Jean wacked Sasha’s arm and clipped Connie upside the head.

“Ouch!”

“What was that for?”

“Shut up!” Jean hissed and turned back to Marco, who was smiling brightly. “I said that?”

Marco stared at his mouth and his smile dimmed a bit. “Yeah, in other words. But if you don’t want to, that’s alright.”

He couldn’t say _no_ , especially since he was already known for ‘beating up the deaf kid’ and Marco was just standing there with his dark, puppy eyes, expecting a rejection. Jean opened his mouth to speak when suddenly Mikasa waved her hand to get Marco’s attention and said coolly, “He wants to go.”

Jean gaped and Eren laughed at him, pulling Mikasa closer in an encouraging squeeze. She leaned into the hug, her small smile engulfed by red scarf Eren gave her for their one year anniversary years ago.

Marco was grinning again, his tanned skin darkening with a blush, and said as he turned away, “Great! Be at Maria Pizza at seven! See you later, Jean.” Everyone watched him as he caught up with the muscular form of Reiner in his red letterman jacket, his boyfriend Bert, who seemed to be a perpetual, sweaty blush as he ducked his head into kiss Reiner’s cheek, and the significantly shorter Annie, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her favorite grey hoodie. They all greeted Marco with series of signs that made Jean itch to find out what they were talking about. They walked out the front doors to the school with Marco in the middle, fluently communicating a silent language that made the whole group laugh, even Annie cracking a smile.

“Who knew those three knew sign language?” Armin commented.

“Who knew those three were friends with Marco?” said Eren.

Connie poked Jeans ribs playfully and grinned from ear to ear. “Who knew Jean was into guys with freckles?”

Jean moaned, banging his forehead into the table, the cool surface stinging his skin painfully. This was going to be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3

Jean had paced slowly outside of Maria Pizza, the local hangout for Trost’s high school students. With his hands shoved in his pockets, one clutching his phone and the other scratching nervously over the smooth white surface, he wondered if he had been stood up. _It’s only six minutes after seven_ , Jean told himself. _He’ll be here._ But that really did nothing to calm his heart rate.

Maybe Marco had changed his mind. He was pretty lame at lunch, and he probably sounded like an idiot when Marco asked him in the first place and he just gaped at him like those weird fish with the bug eyes. Marco was probably too sweet and softhearted or some shit to tell him that the date was off. Wait, this wasn’t even a date. Right? Marco _did_ say that he “didn't mean anything by it" and—

“Hey, Jean!”

Marco’s unmistakable voice startled him and he turned around. Again, Marco wore a giant knitted sweater that was making his figure look small under the thick fabric. Jean suddenly thought it would be the perfect sweater to cuddle—

“Sorry I'm late! Um, I hope that you weren't waiting long. I feel bad because I invited you out but...”

Jean laughed nervously. “Ahaha, yeah, whatever man.It's cool.” He shrugged. “Did you want to go inside?”

Marco nodded with a big stupid smile on his face and Jean found hit hard not to smile back as they went inside. They plopped down into one of the scuffed up red booths that lined the massive windows peering out into the empty street. Jean was sort of flustered for a moment with what to say. There was that awkward—or at least to him—moment when you don't know someone and you try to find something in common with them before the silence gets too long and you just end up staring at each other and—

"So, Jean, I’m sorry for "body checking" you,” Marco finger quoted. His smile turned up at the right corner in obvious sarcasm.

“Well, you should be! I mean…I know you couldn't hear me coming but...you should um…look out for that kind of thing."

Marco's earthy brown eyes glinted in amusement. "You're right. I should be on the constant lookout for cute, lanky guys running at me a hundred miles per hour towards math teacher who looks like someone spit in his coffee. If it happens so often I should be more conscientious.”

“You have _no_ idea. Levi was going to kick my ass into the stratosphere if I didn't get there on time." Jean almost shuddered at the memory when he realized Marco just called him cute.

Marco waved over the waitress who looked like she would rather be out back smoking a cigarette than serving two obnoxious teenagers on their first ‘date.’ She flicked a piece of her black dyed hair out of her eyes and asked them grudgingly what they wanted. Jean had been so nervous—well, not nervous of course. Why would he be?? It’s not like he cared about what Marco thought of him or anything—that he didn’t realize he was hungry.

Marco gave a really charming smile to her, his freckles bunching together where his cheeks dipped into dimples. The guy had dimples. _Dimples_.

Jesus Christ, this guy should be illegal.

"I'll get a large coffee,” said Marco. “Black. No sugar."

"Whoa, pretty hardcore there, Marco." Jean turned to the waitress. “I'll have a burger: extra cheese with a double patty."

The waitress, Maggie, apparently, pulled her yellow uniform shirt down a bit and raised an eyebrow. "The double cheese burger is the exact same thing."

Jean made his face expressionless. "I think I'll just take what I said, thank you."

She rolled her eyes and marched off into the kitchen.

Jean looked back at Marco, who was giving him a curious look.

"If you order the regular burger with extra cheese and a double patty it's cheaper than getting the double cheeseburger," Jean explained.

Marco smiled and propped his head up on one of his hands. "Fight the system and all that?"The little head tilt was ridiculous.

Jean shoved his hands into his pockets with warmth growing across his face. Fuck. If he didn’t stop blushing Marco was going to think he was a bloody anime character. [And for the record, Jean didn't _like_ watching anime. That was Jaeger’s thing. Jean only watched it when he was at Eren’s house for ‘video games’ (it was _never_ fucking video games). He, Mikasa and Armin were even dressing up for one of those conventions in some weird bondage uniform.] Jean’s hand touched the cool surface in his pocket and he steeled himself. Well, he brought it all this way. He might as well bring it out.

"Um, hey, so...I noticed you felt uncomfortable speaking sometimes, so I brought this..."

Jean pulled out a tiny white board, the kind that you hang up in your locker so your friends can draw dicks on it whenever they got the chance. Jean’s chest got fluttery when he saw the look of wonder and endearment as he looked at the board. "I can't draw for shit but I thought this would be fun."

Marco reached over slowly with one hand, his sweater finally revealing his long fingers, which of course had to be speckled with an obscene about of black dots. He touched the back of Jean’s hand lightly. "You're kind of dorky, you know that?"

"What?!" Jean realized the volume of his voice and lowered it. "I was just trying to be nice." 

Marco's eyes did the dumb twinkly thing and he plucked the black marker out of Jean's hand. He started to draw. Jean waited for him to finish, not looking at the board but instead at the way Marco’s hand moved across the surface. His slim fingers lightly gripped the pen, not squeezing too hard but firm and gentle at the same time. His face was another matter. In the sheer effort of trying to create ‘art,’ Marco's brow furrowed and his tongue poked out a bit on the side. It was really fucking cute.

Suddenly, Jean met Marco’s gaze as he looked up and it was basically impossible not to realize he had been staring at him.

_End me._

Marco held up the board and there was a little drawing—a terrible drawing that a fourth grader could have done—of Jean (or at least, he thought it was himself; it was really hard to tell) holding a sword (dildo?) in one hand and a burger in the other. On the top it said, _“Fight the System!”_

Jean grabbed the board and scribbled a stick man that was beginning to rival Marco's first place trophy in bad drawing. It was Marco. Jean made sure to add three freckles on each cheek underneath the two black dots he put for eyes. In the three fingered hand, Jean drew what he hoped like looked like a cup of coffee and wrote in the corner, _"Too hardcore for milk and sugar."_

Marco snatched the pen and wrote, _"Actually, it's soft grunge pastel punk rock, thank you very much."_

The waitress eventually brought Jean’s food and Marco’s coffee, but by that time they had already filled up the board with obscene drawings and things that were supposed to look like things that actually existed in real life, but didn't quite make the cut. Taking massive bites of burger and sipping the hellish black water Marco called coffee, they filled up and erased the tiny white board so many times that they lost count.

It was the strangest conversation Jean had ever had. And they hadn’t said a single word.

He found out Marco was an only child and he lived with his mom and stepdad. He told him about his cousin Ymir almost fist fighting Annie for a backhanded comment she made, only a month before Marco and her became friends via Bertholt. Jean told him about the time Sasha and Connie got them, him and Armin kicked out of a coffee shop for singing the Pokémon theme song too loud. Marco laughed really loudly at that and Jean ached to think of another story that would allow him the privilege of hearing that sound again.

Letting Marco finish a drawing of his cat Socrates (apparently he was really into philosophy and history), Jean plucked the pen out of his hand and hesitated before writing slowly, _"So...were you born without hearing or???”_ He drew a small frowny face before scribbling it away and replaced that with a confused face that didn't really fit the situation either. Jean just erased it and showed the question to Marco.

Marco smiled a little weakly and wrote back, _"Don't be weird about it. :) It's a genetic thing. I could hear until I was about twelve and then I just sort of lost it. My grandpa had it too. So I can remember what it was like to hear and I know how to speak but...it’s foggy. Like trying to remember your favorite song, but...you can’t recall the lyrics or the tune...It’s okay though. I'm fine."_

Marco placed the pen in front of Jean. The smile that was on his face was genuine and with what Jean could see, had no hint of sadness about it.

Jean wrote back quickly with a burst of confidence, _“Yeah, you’re fine. ;)”_

Marco burst into laughter at that.

_"Did you to listen to a lot of music before?"_

Marco shrugged and wrote, _"Not really. I just miss voices. Hearing little hitches or wavers when people speak, the way it would go higher or lower depending on what they were talking about. Now I find the little hitches in body language. It can be very telling."_ He smiled a little mischievously, the twinkle back in his eye.

Jean erased the board, which was full again, and scribbled quickly with a sudden twist of anxiousness in his stomach, _"What can you read about me?"_

He stared at him for a second, a _hmmm_ buzzing in his throat, before writing, " _You don’t like embarrassing things. You cover embarrassing situations up with anger and you duck your head when you say something embarrassing. I think (?) you have anxiety, which must suck. :( You get worked up over things because you’re passionate. You’re honest because you don’t like lying and..._ ” Marco looked up from the board which Jean had been peering over, his body leaning far across the table, and realized their faces were only inches away from one another. Jean was fascinated by the little variations in the color of his dark eyes, which were framed in these really long dark eyelashes, the kind some girls would kill for. Marco lifted his hand and brushed his fingertips across Jean’s cheek, sending a cool tingle over his entire body. Marco’s mouth parted and Jean held his breath—

“Do you want the check or not?” An irritated voice snapped them apart and they turned to see the very disgruntled waitress glaring at them with one hand on a cocked hip. “You’ve been here for two hours already and the boss says either you buy another coffee or you have to leave.”

Marco, with both hands pulling at the front of his sweater and cheeks pink, looked at Jean. Jean didn’t know why, but he had a feeling (and he sincerely hoped he felt it too) that this “not like that” date was not going to be the last.

Jean smiled at her. “Check please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I was finishing up school and now that I'm off I'll have more time to write. And I'm also sorry this chapter is so long!! I wasn't really planning on it but whoop there it is.
> 
> If I don't update for a while, come kick my ass on my tumblr canofwhoopasstiel.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks for waiting! I hope you all like it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I couldn't think of what to write next for a while there. But now I've even figured out the ending! I hope you guys like it.

As far as first dates go, it wasn’t that bad. Actually, if Jean would admit it to himself, it was the best date he had ever been on (but obviously he wouldn’t say it was best date he’d ever been on because that would be fucking stupid thing to do and jean was obviously way too cool to like Marco that much). But the truth was Jean really _did_ like him that much. Marco was funny and smart and had this weird sort of sly sarcasm that made Jean laugh every time. His drawing skills sucked, but Jean was even worse, and who the hell cared if they could draw anyway. Half the fun of being around Marco with the white board was that they had to try and figure out if the blob in front of them was a drawing of a person or a vague imitation of one of Sasha’s potatoes.

Night had fallen by the time Jean got back to his house. Entering his room, he relived the silent conversation he had with Marco in his head, smiling at all the dumb things they talked about. He plopped down onto his bead and curled up with a pillow crushed to his chest. He embarrassingly kind of wished that it was Marco’s warm body he was cuddling instead of a stupid enclosed sack of goose feathers, as lame as that was.

Then a slow creeping thought curled around his brain and made his chest tighten suddenly. Fuck. What if Marco didn't have as much fun as Jean did? What it really wasn’t even a date? Jean always acted pretty confidant, but he was just constantly trying to hide his feelings of inadequacy. He always felt that he was on a slightly different frequency than everyone else. Connie and Sasha, his best friends, came closer than anyone. Half the time they could almost read his thoughts, but that just came with familiarity. They didn't understand him as well as he wanted someone, _anyone_ , to.

Marco, though...he just clicked.

Jean didn’t know what it was about deaf freckled Jesus that made him feel like he was being understood, but there was something about him…and if Marco didn't feel the same way well then fuck him sideways Jean was screwed.

He groaned at the growing nausea in his stomach and tried to still his shaking hands on the pillow. His blood was running wired through his veins like there was electricity pumping through them. He thought despairingly, _It wasn’t even a date. Marco probably thinks I’m an idiot. A lame idiot who’s probably rude as fuck and god knows what else._ Fuck _me._ Jean curled up on his sideand shoved his face into his pillow. _Everything is okay._ _Marco likes me. Marco thinks I’m cool. Marco doesn’t think I’m a complete loser._ _I am not pathetic._

And somehow, saying it didn't make it feel like it was true at all.

 

~*~

 

"Sooooooo, how'd your date go?" Sasha drawled with one hand propped up on her chin.

Jean, Sasha, Armin, and Connie were outside for lunch today, deciding the nice weather should be taken advantage of. Connie above them, sprawled in the low lying branches of a tree, right over the park picnic table where the rest of them were sitting. The sun beat down, but they were shaded nicely by Connie’s lazing form and the leaves of the tree.

Jean rubbed at his eyes, which he was pretty damn sure had circles darker than hell. He barely slept. His anxiety kept him up most of the night, only allowing him to drift off around 4:30am. Two and a half hours of sleep did not make him a very happy camper.

"It was fine," he said wearily.

"You okay, Jean?Did something happen with Marco?” Armin’s ginormous concerned baby blue eyes were practically staring into Jean’s fucking soul.

He looked away. "No. I just couldn't sleep last night."

Sasha’s mischievous smile dimmed. "That bad, huh?"

"No!” he exclaimed, trying to force some emotion into his voice that would sound convincing. “Marco is fine. I'm fine. Everything is fine. I'm just tired."

"Bullshit.” Connie peered down, flipping over to lie on his stomach, both hands propping up his chin on the branch. “Do you want to go on another date?"

“It wasn't even a date." Jean had come to that conclusion sometime last night between hellishly late o’clock and fucking hellishly late o’clock. Marco had even said he didn’t mean anything by it. As in, it wasn’t a fucking date, no matter how much Jean wanted it to be.

Armin reached across the table and patted Jean’s arm, to which he jerked away quickly. Armin wasn't fazed in the slightest, being already used to his quick bouts of irritation. "It’ll be okay. You'll see."

Jean, needing a distraction, opened his phone and stared at the number Marco had given him last night. He hadn’t texted him. Jean thought it would be too eager to try to text Marco right away. Or maybe that gave off the impression to Marco that he wasn't interested in him? Jean moaned loud enough to startle Eren and Mikasa, who were at another table, to look over. They were off doing couplely things today: probably shoving each other’s tongues down their throats or some shit. He wondered if Marco was a good kisser. Marco’s freckles would bunch up into his dimples just before his smile would fade as he leaned in closer to Jean, dark lashed eyes fluttering close, his lips parting slowly, and—

_Fuck my life._

Jean dropped his head on the wooden table and covered his head with his arms. He moaned again. Louder.

“Think he’s okay?”

“He sounds like he’s giving birth.”

“I think it’s more of a ‘fuck my life’ sort of moan, Con.”Jean heard Sasha chewing loudly on something. He wasn't even sure what she was eating since he swore she already finished her lunch ten minutes ago.

“I think when people give birth they’re pretty much thinking that exact same thing.”

“How would you know? You’ve never given birth before.”

“I have a very vivid imagination, Arlert.”

Jean didn’t bother to lift his head when he interjected, “Can you imagine my foot rocketing up your ass to get you to shut up?”

“Hey. What’s up?” An awkward voice snapped Jean out of his self-induced misery and he stared in wonder at Marco, who was looking fucking perfect. He obviously thought today was too warm out for his usual large sweaters, so he opted out for an abstract flowery shirt and a cardigan. His arms and chest looked really good under the tighter material. Jean resisted the urge to straighten out his old iron man shirt. He wasn't even much of a marvel fan. But Connie’s attempts to convert him from DC were as persistent as he himself was.

“M-Marco!”

A chorus of greetings rang out from the table (and tree). Armin shrugged and smiled warmly. “Connie and Jean were just bickering.”

“I see.” Marco smiled brightly, obviously getting his full eight hours last night. Then he gestured to Jean, who was sitting with his hands clasped together tightly in his lap. His heart was thundering.

“Can I talk to you?"

Jean scrambled out from the table, nearly tripping over the bench and said, "Of course. Yeah, dude." He added the dude part to try to make him sound casual and cool. _That was totally not casual and cool, you fucking idiot, Jean. You’re almost stupider than Eren. What are you? A surfer?_

Jean lost his trail of thought when Marco happily grabbed at his hand and tugged him to follow. His face heated, but just as quickly as Marco touched him, he let go, expecting him to follow. Jean felt a little disappointed. Only a _little_. They walked further away into park, which was across the street from the high school, and entered a grove of trees. Marco sat on a sturdy looking log and motioned for Jean to sit.

Jean warily sat down next to him and stared at anything but Marco, currently being his scuffed up red shoes which were nosing into the sandy dirt. He scrambled for something to say that would make it less awkward for himself. The he thought of what he googled last night when he couldn't sleep. Maybe he should...

"So, you didn't text me last night." Marco said. It was a teasing tone rather than an agitated one.

Jean smiled a bit. "Yeah. I just…forgot. I had homework and stuff. You know. The usual."

Marco leaned back on his hands. “Levi give you a ton to do?"

"Naw, I'm just dumb as shit so," he shrugged. Jean made sure to say this while looking at Marco. As much as he'd rather talk with his eyes at his feet, he knew that without the white board, this was the only way to communicate with him fairly.

"I'm pretty good at math." Marco nudged his shoulder with his own. “You can come to my house sometime and I'll help you."

Jean tried not to let his face brighten too much. But if he was facing the facts, Jean was really excited to spend more time with him. And if Marco was the one offering...than that must mean he wanted to see Jean. He wanted to hang out with him.

Jean grinned and the weight in his chest that had been plaguing him all night and morning didn’t seem quite so heavy anymore. "Hell yeah. I need all the help I can get, otherwise Jaeger's going to be riding my ass about how he got a higher mark than me for the rest of my life."

Suddenly, Marco's expression became super calm, like he was trying to keep a straight face. The corner of his mouth turned up the slightest as he began to sign something. Jean stared at the way Marco's hands, those long, beautiful, freckled pianist’s fingers fluttered together in to different patterns, moving as easily as he could breathe.

When he stopped, Jean asked, "What did you say?"

Marco smiled a bit and looked up at the sky. “Nothing, Jean. Maybe I'll teach you one day."

Jean leaned back on his hands too and didn't say anything. There wasn't any point after all, since Marco wasn’t watching him. But he thought a little smugly to himself, _Maybe I won't tell him just yet._ Jean, in his state of insomnia, passed the long night hours by looking up youtube videos of how to learn sign language. Jean didn't retain much in those a few hours, but when Marco was signing, he thought he spotted the words ‘like,’ ‘cute,’ ‘push,’ and ‘worth.’

Jean couldn’t piece together what he had said, but he thought it was something along the lines of Marco saying he looked cute. And that he liked him.

And that was enough to make him smile.

“PLEASE PUT AWAY ALL EXPOSED GENITALS!”

Connie’s voice startled Jean so severely that he almost fell off the log. At his movement, Marco flinched to look at Connie, who could now be seen poking his head from behind a tree. “All magic wands must go back into their wizard sleeves! I don’t want to interrupt some _WILD_ —”

“— _PRIMITIVE_ sex, but lunch is almost over!” Sasha finished, her head poking out from the other side of the same tree. Their mirrored devilish expressions were infuriating.

Jean practically exploded. “ _You little shits!_   We weren’t doing anything!”

Sasha peered at Connie, “I don’t know, Con. Did you see anything?”

He threw a hand over his forehead and fell back against the tree dramatically. “I have seen things, Sash. Things I’ve never wanted to see in my life. I feel woozy.”

“Oh, poor you!” Sasha pulled him into her arms and patted his back soothingly. “That’s it! I’m starting a new movement! ‘Save Connie 2014!’ We must protect innocent eyes like yours from these _fiends_.”

Jean was about to run over and beat the shit out of them when he heard Marco laughing behind him. He must have understood the bulk of what they had said by reading their body language and their exaggerated lip movements. Again, it struck Jean how nice Marco’s laugh was in comparison to his strange voice. The sound was exciting and calming at the same time.

Jean’s face suddenly wasn’t so hot anymore.

Marco’s eyes sparkled. “I really like your friends, Jean.”

Jean wanted to smile back but didn’t. _I just hope you like me too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter is lame, my excuse is I wrote it at hellishly late o’clock.
> 
> And if I take too long to update, come kick my ass at my tumblr canofwhoopasstiel.tumblr.com  
> Also, I'll be telling people updates about when the new chapter is coming up using the tag fic: nothing left to say. If you guys want me to see anything, tag it using that okay?? 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I didn't think people would be so invested as to actually check for updates. Thank you so much for the support!

“Okay, I'll make a deal with you. If I don't have to factor that equation, I'll give you ten bucks,” Jean bargained, eyeing Marco convincingly.

They were sitting in Marco's room, math books and the like scattered across the ground, taking up almost more room than Jean, who was sprawled face up on the floor while Marco tested him from his computer chair. They had been hanging out with each other for three weeks now. Jean knew it wasn’t official. They weren’t dating: it was too casual and comfortable to call it that. They hadn't even kissed yet. But Jean thought they were getting there. Kind of. There were no big confessions, nothing out of the ordinary, but Jean knew Marco didn't just keep inviting him over to ‘study’ (of course, all they ever did _was_ study and play video games when Jean convinced Marco to let him have a break), but it had to mean something. Right?

“You can't bribe me, Kirschtein. My will is steel,” he said as he flipped through the open textbook: probably searching for more ways to torture Jean.

Jean moaned into his arm, which was lazily covering his face. “Just let me die, Marco.”

Of course, Marco wouldn't have seen what he said, but just saying out loud how boring this was, even if Marco didn’t hear it, made him feel better.

A sudden tapping came from the desk and Jean snapped his head up, startled. Marco was staring down at him from the chair, the lamp light illuminating the back of his head like a halo. The expression on his face was something caught between exasperation and affection. "Don't be lazy," he said, and threw his pencil at Jean. “Jesus!” He flung his arm out but missed it and the pencil wacked him in the middle of his forehead. Jean sat up, rubbing his forehead. "Fine, fine. What's the damn equation?"

Marco lifted a larger whiteboard from his table and wrote it in giant font. Then beside the hellish looking stream of numbers and letters, he drew a small blob with spikey hair and a frowning face. The angry eyebrows confirmed it was an imitation of Jean. Marco drew a small speech bubble beside it that said, “Jaeger is going to kick my ass in the math final.” Then he propped the board up on his desk and moved away, looking extremely smug.

“Like hell.” Jean stood and wiped away the tiny masterpiece, staring at the problem.

“Remember to check for the common factor first—”

“I know!” Jean waved him off and bit his lip. Glancing to the side, he saw Marco’s shit eating grin and refocused on the numbers in front of him. Jean suddenly felt warm breath on the side of his face as Marco leaned over him from behind, brushing his mouth to Jean’s ear. He whispered, lips almost touching him, "The common factor is two.”

 _Fuck_. Jean nearly leaned back into Marco, before he snapped himself out of it and shakily raised his dry erase marker up to the board. His face was burning. He was pretty sure Marco had no idea the effect he had on Jean.

_Fucking Factoring. Fucking Marco Bodt._

Ten minutes later, Jean had finished factoring the equation, but when Marco explained to him that it was probably the easiest question in the chapter, Jean flopped face down on Marco’s bed in frustration. Jean heard Marco put the textbooks down on the desk and he felt it when the other teen joined him on the bed, the added weight of Marco's tall body made them sink a little towards each other. Jean peeked from under his arm and saw Marco watching him.

Marco signed to Jean slowly, _“Video games or white board?”_

Sometime in the past two weeks, Jean gave up the pretense that he wasn't learning sign language on his own. And when Marco found out, Jean was glad he was there to witness the smile.

“I've never had someone do that for me before: learn sign language to be able to talk to me. Bert, Annie and Reiner excluded, obviously, but they've been my friends since I was a kid and learned it with me. So, I don't think it counts,” Marco had said in his off kilter voice, his eyes cast down at the floor shyly. “Thank you, Jean." His hands had been stuffed into his sweater and a blush had crept over his freckled face slowly in embarrassment.

That was when the thought had suddenly occurred to Jean to kiss Marco’s mouth.

 _Well, fuck me sideways,_ Jean had thought. _I really fucking like him._

Jean had scratched the back of his head, his face extremely warm. “I want you to teach me more.”

Marco had only looked up then, so Jean repeated his statement with a little cough. “Um, can you teach me more sign language? It’s kind of hard to remember all the movements with just YouTube videos and—” Suddenly, Marco grabbed Jean by this shoulders and hugged him, a giant, tight hug with his arms around Jean’s neck. Startled and embarrassed, Jean had slowly hugged Marco back around his torso and squeezed. He shivered slightly when he had felt Marco mouth something against the sensitive skin on his neck. _“Thank you.”_

Jean blushed now just thinking about it, and with Marco right next to him on the bed, it wasn't so hard to picture it again. Jean signed back to him clumsily, _“White board.”_

A sort of inside joke between them was communicating through two tiny white boards. A few days after talking to Marco in the park, they bought matching white boards the size of an iPad. They both had picked up the habit of carrying it around with them: it was either in their pockets or bags in case they saw each other. When they were in public, they drew things that only they would understand (and maybe some things people didn’t _want_ to understand) but in the privacy of Jean’s or Marco's room, they would talk in full sentences, writing while right next to each other.

Marco started scribbling something out and showed it to Jean. _“Still think Eren's going to kick your ass in the final?”_ he wrote, a smile playing at his lips.

Jean rolled over, the bed squeaking under him, and grabbed his white board. He readjusted himself next to Marco, both of them propped up against the wall.

 _“Probably…”_ Jean wrote. _“Pfft. It doesn’t matter though. It’s not like it’s competition or anything.”_

Marco nudged him with his elbow and showed him his board. _“But actually it is a competition. Remember? You made a bet with Eren that if you won he'd have to write dirty fanfiction about Levi and Principal Smith.”_ Marco laughed at Jean’s withering expression. _“And if you lost you had to read it out loud in front of them both. I don’t think Levi will take kindly to having his personal life made fun of.”_

_“Shut up.”_

_“I didn’t say anything.”_ Jean punched Marco’s arm, the next letters suddenly veering off the board before he continued, _“How do you always get the short end if the stick in those situations? It’s like you have the worst luck ever.”_

Jean groaned and tipped his head sideways onto Marco’s shoulder. It felt nice to be this close to him. _“It's Eren,”_ Jean wrote sloppily. _“He's such a ...such a....”_

Marco peered over and noticed Jean's lack of an adequate word to describe him. _“Dick?”_

_“That's not creative enough for the unique brand of idiot Eren is.”_

_“Ding dong?”_ Marco wrote with a dimpled smile.

Jean looked up at himincredulously. _“What is he? A doorbell?”_

Marco tapped his marker on the board. _“Okay...All beef thermometer?”_

_“I think you're just coming up with stupid names for a penis now, Marco.”_

_“Wiggle waggle? Tinky Winky? Donkey dong? Stinky pickle? One-eyed web shooter?”_

Jean laughed and shoved his board in front of Marco’s. _“That last one didn't even make any sense!”_

Marco wrote massively on Jean’s board, _“YOGURT SLINGER.”_

Jean ripped both boards away from him, tackling him flat on his back. He landed on Marco, who tried to push him off but erupted into an infectious laughter instead. Jean sputtered out a laugh into Marco's chest, the noise muffled by the freckled boy’s pink sweater. Marco’s arm fell over Jean’s back, hand clutching the fabric of his shirt while his entire body shook with amusement. Slowly, Jean's giggles died down and Marco wiped a probably nonexistent tear from his eye, breathing heavily. After a moment of silence, Jean realized what position they were both in. Marco: flat on his back with one arm around him. Jean: his head resting against the larger boy's broad chest with his torso and lower body falling between Marco’s sprawled legs.

Jean's ears became extremely warm for some reason.

He quickly scrambled off Marco before he did or said anything stupid, something that would probably freak Marco out or—

“Jean?”

Marco propped himself up on his elbows and looked at Jean, who strategically faced the other direction, sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the clenched hands in his lap. He took a shaky breath and looked over his shoulder. “It's nothing.”

Marco's smile dropped and crawled over to him, a concerned furrow appearing on his forehead.  _“Hey,”_ Marco signed. _“Talk to me.”_ The corner of his mouth turned up faintly.

A wave of intense nausea suddenly swept through Jean’s stomach and it was getting hard to keep a straight face. The cold, creeping shards of ice that sometimes grew in his body were making his hands shake. Breathing quickly, he tried to think of something to say, something that wouldn't freak Marco out but his mind was drawing a blank. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Jean.” Marco's voice, which was starting to sound much less strange in Jean’s ears, was closer to him this time. Concerned, but firm. “Look at me please.”

Trying to control the dizzying sensation in his head, he turned to face him, their knees bumping each other on the bed. _“I'm sorry,”_ Jean signed. It was one of the very first things he got Marco to teach him.

 _“I'm just..._ ” He couldn’t think of the sign for it, so he spoke instead. “…anxious.”

“I know. Can you tell me why?” The boy in front of him didn't look judgmental or angry or impatient because Marco Bodt was a fucking saint and Jean should have known he wouldn't have treated him poorly for his disorder. If anyone knew what it was like to be set apart from other people because of a disability, it was Marco. Jean breathed deeply and looked straight into his warm, dark brown eyes. There was nothing to be afraid of.

It was _Marco_.

"I...I like you. I like you a lot. And I know we haven't exactly said it out loud but it’s like we've kind of dating for the past few weeks and I just wanted you to confirm that we are official.” He started scratching at his wrists. “You know, like officially dating. I know it's all sudden for me to say but I think we should...um...define the relationship.” He said it all in one big rush, and hoped Marco could read his words better than Jean could say them.

Marco's face fell. A strange flash of panic crossed his face before being replaced with a soft sadness. “Jean...”

He didn't say anything. Ice grew in him, froze his muscles, constricted his lungs and crept up harshly into his throat. He was still.

“Jean...we aren't dating.”

The ice reached his heart.

Jean laughed and scrambled off the bed, tripping to his knees for a second before rushing to collect all of his textbooks in a mad hurry. "Haha, right man. Of course, no worries.” Marco couldn’t have heard him with his back turned, but at that point, it really didn’t matter. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and paused at Marco’s bedroom door. He blinked as fast as he could. He didn't look at Marco. He didn't want him to hear any of his lies, his excuses for leaving. He just wanted to go.

 _“Bye,”_ he signed, and proceeded to run out of Marco Bodt’s house.

 

~*~

“What do you mean, you just ran out of the house?” Sasha exclaimed. Her brows scrunched in bewilderment. “Why didn’t you stay and talk to him about it? I know being rejected sucks, man, but you kind of fucked up.”

Connie, Sasha and a very depressed Jean were standing in front of the school’s main doors. The first bell of the day hadn’t rung yet, so Jean pulled them outside to vent about what had happened last night. The sun was still rising: a slow drag across the blue of the sky that hadn’t quite warmed up the departing night’s air.

"It's not his fault, Sash.” Connie reasoned, grazing a hand through his shorn hair. “Jean was heartbroken. He had to get out of there before the waterworks started.”

“I wasn't going to cry,” Jean mumbled, fucking lying to himself and his best friends.

"Yes, you were: which isn't a bad thing. You guys looked like a couple, acted like a couple…” Sasha observed. “I guess if it talks like a duck and walks like I duck, it can also be a goose. I can see the confusion.”

“I'm just pissed, you know? I thought that he liked me and then just...nothing. I feel like complete trash.” He kicked a stone at his feet angrily.

"You aren’t _complete_ trash, Jean,” Connie said with a comforting smile. “You're...much, much more than your trashy exterior.”

Sasha held her fist up to him. “Connie, I swear to god I'll kick you in your gonads. That isn't helping Jean.”

“You wouldn’t hurt your doting boyfriend, would you?”he pouted, his head tilting towards her.

She gave a very malevolent smile. “Oh, yes I would.”

Connie straightened. “Okay then.”

“Guys!” Jean waved his hands in front of their faces and scowled. “Aren't we talking about me here?”

“Self-centered much?” Connie snickered and then slowly sobered, taking in Jean’s weary expression.”…Hey, man. I'm sorry. If you want me to beat up Marco for you I will. I'm on your side.”

“Same here, dude.” Sasha clapped her hand on Jean's shoulder and then whispered to Connie, “We definitely are not going to beat up the deaf kid.” She turned and smiled. “Just...vent it all out.”

Jean exhaled.

He didn't like being sad: more than most people, if that were possible. He dealt with secondhand sadness from his anxiety all the time. So when he was just feeling really shitty in the ordinary sense, like today, it was much nicer to channel his pain and twist it into anger. And he had no problem doing it now. It…was almost easy.

“He said it himself. First day I met him: ‘I don’t mean anything by it.’ Of course it didn’t fucking mean anything then. But now it’s all different. I should have seen it! I mean, I was a fucking _idiot_ for looking between the lines for something that clearly wasn’t there.” Jean fisted his hands in his hair, pulling at the roots. “But Marco!?” His arms flew out in rage. “How could he be so blind? I thought it was pretty fucking obvious how I felt, even when I didn't want it to be. I don't want to stop being his friend but he's _so_ _fucking_ _stupid!_ He could have avoided giving me signals that didn't exist if he knew how I felt!”

His two best friends looked at each other nervously.

“Um...Jean...”

“…Maybe you shouldn’t—”

Jean could have stopped there, but the anger that was boiling in his chest just made him keep going. He was on a roll now, and nothing could stop him. “I mean you know what they say right?” He stared up desperately at Connie and Sasha. “Deaf and dumb.”

Sasha gasped and Connie’s eyes widened.

At that exact moment, Jean looked past both Connie and Sasha to a figure a few meters away staring at him. His brown sweater was too big for him, but it enveloped his frame endearingly. His black hair was scruffy, like he had taken a shower and forgotten to brush it after. Freckles, dozens of them, were speckled on his face like a mass of constellations. His pretty mouth was open a little in the kind of frown that accompanied emotions of shock and despair. His dark eyes were shining. In his white knuckled hands he held up a white board. Scrawled out in block letters was a question.

_“Will you be my boyfriend, Jean Kirschtein?”_

Jean's heart fell through the floor.

At this distance, the tall boy in front of him could read his lips perfectly: presently and previously.

"Marco,” he said: his voice desperate. “Wait.”

Marco ran his palm over the words, erasing them from existence. He dropped the board on the ground and just walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have seen a post on tumblr about what NOT to call a penis while writing fanfiction and I took it as a challenge.
> 
> Next chapter is going to be the last one! :( Message me at my tumblr canofwhoopasstiel.tumblr.com if I'm taking too long. (how do you bloody put a link in here kill me pls)
> 
> Thank you for all your comments and kudos!!!!! ^^


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't supposed to happen this way. But it did.  
> And I'm so sorry.

“I’m a fucking idiot. I am the poster child for fuck ups.”

“You _are_ an idiot but you’re also a decent guy.Sometimes. Except in this one instance. Where you fucked up big time,” Armin said sympathetically. “Sorry, Jean.”

Armin and Jean were sitting on the curb outside of Dairy Queen after school. The short blond had insisted that ice cream would help. It didn’t, but the gesture was appreciated. Jean had no idea how he even made it through the school day. After Marco had left, the three of them had just stood there, silence clawing at their throats and horror clutching at their stomachs. Connie and Sasha recovered a little quicker and tried to calm Jean down before he turned into the hulk or something, but he wouldn’t have it.

So he ran.

He fucking ran away from his two best friends because the truth was he didn’t want to see the looks of disappointment and the looks of pity for having unintentionally broken the heart of one of the sweetest, funniest (not to mention hottest) guys at school. One who was also fucking disabled. Oh, Jean was definitely getting brownie points for that one. He really was on the highway to hell.

Jean had moved from class to class, not really talking or paying attention to anyone or anything. And if he was honest, he wasn’t even thinking about what he said, or Marco’s face or anything really. There was just this feeling of emptiness, this numbness that filled his chest like it was clogged with freezing water. He felt like he had drowned and was just floating, dazed, as icy shards froze his body.

And they always said hell was cold.

He had asked Armin to hang out with him for the sole reason that he was the only person he trusted to talk about it who hadn’t actually witnessed what had happened. He was afraid of how Connie and Sasha saw him now. He was afraid that they saw him like he saw himself.

“Should I go to his house now and apologize?” Jean shoveled in another spoonful, the fudge drizzleannoyingly dripping on his chin.

Armin looked at him with wide eyes. “You just called Marco deaf and dumb, probably the worst insult you could give to a hearing impaired person, only _six hours ago_ , and you think you should apologize to him _now?”_

Jean growled as he swallowed. He could admit it wasn’t the best idea. “So what do I do then? Descend from the heavens wearing some magical flying outfit, flick my wand and just _wish_ away his memories of my idiocy?”

“Give him time,” Armin said patiently. “The wounds are still too fresh to go poking at them just yet.”

Jean stared at the ground, frustration bubbling up. “But if I don’t apologize now, he’ll think I’m a coward, waiting until he’s calm enough to forgive me. He’ll think I’m avoiding him to save my own skin. I have to, Armin. I have to fix this _now_.”

“I don’t think—”

At that moment three figures who had been casually walking up the sidewalk, noticed the two of them perched on the edge of the road. One was broad, built like a tank with the charming face to match, the other was tall, fairly sweaty, and the third looked like they could kill a man. Arriving just in the nick of time was Reiner, Bertholt and Annie.

Annie’s eyes narrowed as she zeroed in on Jean’s lanky figure. Her searing eyes bored holes into his face. Jean could practically feel his skin melting off. He cringed visibly.

“Hey, look.” She nudged Reiner’s arm and his more or less cheerful gaze flickered down to rest on Jean and the expression was quickly replaced. Now, he too, looked like he could kill a man.

Bertholt looked agitated and nervous, like he could sense the upcoming confrontation, and moved a little behind Reiner, using him as a living buffer between him and the oncoming storm. But Jean could see it plainly in his eyes. Bertholt was pissed too.

 _Fuck it._ Jean inhaled heavily, put his sundae down on the concrete and stood up. He sauntered forward with a little cry of protest from Armin below. “Hey. Just the people I was looking for.” Jean hoped his voice sounded more confident than he felt. Probably not.

The trio stopped in front of him. Crossing his arms, Reiner glared. “What the hell do you want?”

Armin tugged at his sleeve. “Jean…”

“I want to talk to Marco. Do you know if he’s at his house right now?”

The bulking teen in front of him laughed in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? You aren’t going anywhere _near_ Marco.”

“I need to talk to him.”

Annie took a step forward. “I would advise against it.” She was not giving Jean advice.

Jean shook his head. “I know you know what happened, but this is…all a big mistake.”

“What did you not understand?” Reiner’s voice lowered. “You are not going to talk to Marco. You are not going to sign to Marco, text him or otherwise. He’s dealt with enough shit in his life to also deal with a punk ass like you.”

Armin moved to stand next to Jean. “Jean doesn’t deserve Marco’s forgiveness.” Jean whipped his head downwards and was about to object when he continued, “But you have to let him try. Marco means a great deal to him.”

“No.” Annie moved her hair out of her eye to glower better at Jean. “We don’t have to let him do anything.”

Jean’s fists clenched. “You guys don’t know anything. Marco needs to—”

Annie suddenly sprung forward and fisted Jean’s shirt in one fist, dragging his face down to her level. “Listen to me, you little shit. It’s you who doesn’t know anything. You don’t know what Marco needs or wants because you haven’t asked, because he hasn’t _told_ you. But he’s told _us_. And the last thing Marco needs right now is to indulge in your little charity fundraiser.” She shoved him away and Jean clutched the spot where her hand was. “He doesn’t need people like you in his life.”

Reiner gently grabbed Annie’s arm and pulled her back. She allowed it. Refocusing on Jean, he announced, “We are going to Marco’s house now. We’ll be there all night, possibly all week. Don’t pay us a visit.”

Annie brushed by Jean, her shoulder roughly hitting his arm. Stealing one last withering look at him, Reiner jogged to catch up to her.

Jean was left standing in front of Bertholt, who was wringing his hands in his shirt and avoiding eye contact. His head then lifted. “I like you, Jean.” Bert frowned and his eyes filled with a horrible sort of sadness. “But you are probably the worst thing that’s happened to Marco in years.”

Jean stopped breathing.

Bert walked past him with a quick nod in Armin’s direction, who patted his arm as he passed. Armin quickly moved in front of Jean and grabbed his hands.

He barely felt them.

“Jean, calm down. I think what I said was right. You need to give Marco some space. He needs time to cool down and clearly so do his friends—”

Armin’s voice faded out as Jean’s thoughts became deafening.

_You are probably the worst thing that has happened to Marco in years._

_The worst thing._

_Deaf and Dumb._

How could three words make everything such a mess? How could he let Marco think that he thought he was stupid? How could he have hurt the person he loved—wait, _loved?_

Jean's eyes widened as he stared blankly at the floor.

_Loved...Marco?_

How the _fuck_ did that happen? It had only been a few weeks!

_A few incredible weeks._

During that short period, he spent more than enough time with Marco to know him, to understand him, to feel understood in return. It was like they had already laid the foundations for the relationship years ago, or a lifetime ago, and only now were building the part that would stay with them for the rest of their lives. It wasn’t some love at first sight bullshit either. The second Jean laid his eyes on Marco he didn’t know that he was special. He didn't realize that Marco would make him feel this way. He didn't _know_.

But he did now.

He knew now that whatever he did or was going to do in the future, he would want to do it with Marco. He wanted to spend as long as he possibly could by his side, even if it meant they couldn’t be together in the way Jean had wanted. Even if they were just friends. It didn’t matter anymore. Not at all.

And he just ruined any chance of Marco accepting or returning Jean's feelings to him, or even just allowing Jean the privilege of being his friend. After something like this, Jean doubted he would ever forgive him, especially not if Marco had already been through this sort of situation in the past, like Berthold had suggested.

_“Jean!”_

Armin's voice suddenly shocked him out of this reverie and his head jerked up to meet concerned, blue eyes. “Jean. Please calm down. Take slower breathes. Breathe in and out slowly.” Jean hadn’t even noticed the lightness in his head was due to the fact that he was hyperventilating. He tried to control his breathing.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Exhale._

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Inhale._

Armin spoke softly, “Let me take you home, okay?"

“I don’t want to go home,” he mumbled out unconsciously. If he went home, he would be alone. Alone with his own thoughts was worse than any punishment he could find for himself on earth.

 “…I can't be alone,” he muttered, embarrassed and defeated.

“Jean...” Armin's hands in Jean's loosened slightly, before reaffirming their grip. He wasn’t letting go.

_Thank you._

“Let me take you to Connie's, okay? We can play video games. That shooter game you’re always trying to convince me to play with Eren.”

Jean nodded dully. “Sure.”

And as they walked quietly to Connie's not once did Armin let go of Jean's hand.

 

~*~

 

Over the next week, Marco did not talk to Jean once.

Not because of Jean's lack of effort though. At every moment Marco would walk by, or spot Jean, he would waved enthusiastically to get his attention, sign out something along the lines of “Can we talk?” or simply a poorly drawn picture of Jean and Marco holding hands on his white board. Jean had thought the last one might evoke a different reaction from all the other times he tried to communicate with him, but just got a wounded look in return and a cold shoulder. Fifty percent of the time, Jean's attempts were ignored. The other fifty percent he was blocked by three bodies that stood in front of Jean like a colossal wall. Trapped like cattle away from the rest of the world, Jean became very acquainted with Bertholt, Reiner and Annie's passive aggressive way of keeping Marco away from him.

At one point, Jean had finally forced himself past the trio, walked straight up to Marco and looked him in the eye.

“Marco,” he had said, and then signed in the most sincere way possible. _“I'm so sorry. Please talk to me—”_ and that was all he got before Annie was hauling his ass away from her friend and tossing him to the ground. Jean glared at her before casting a desperate glance at Marco behind her. 

He stood there, hands clenched into fists in his pockets and eyes getting unsettlingly shiny, and then left.

Jean’s spirit fell to the floor and vowed to himself that was the last time he was going to try to make it up to him. Who cared if Jean loved him? Who would even believe it anyway? A few weeks and he called what he felt for Marco love? How could anyone believe it? More importantly, how could Marco believe it after what Jean said?

He couldn’t be selfish. Not this time. Not when it was so important. Not when it was Marco.

So, Jean gave up.

 

~*~

 

 It would have been nice to say that the next two weeks without Marco went by quickly. That not talking to him, not being allowed to sign something from afar to him or make him laugh with a poorly drawn potato-like figure for two weeks just zoomed by. That Jean barely noticed the absence.

But then he would be a filthy liar.

He had slipped back into his old routine, Pre-Marco, with Connie Sasha, Armin, Eren and Mikasa, hanging out occasionally and texting once and a while, not to mention the lunches and classes they shared. But after the startling addition of Marco Bodt into his life, only to have him leave so quickly, Jean felt it. He felt it like he a lost arm.

He felt like he was missing his other half.

Jean constantly thought about how horribly stupid he was. And as of currently, walking to the corner store to pick up a new carton of milk for his mom, he was especially dwelling on the fact that he didn't even force upon Marco the opportunity to explain. Explain how he felt. Why he said the things he said. Why he was so sorry.

He ran a hand through his hair as he crossed the street sullenly. The colorful 7 Eleven sign glowed dimly in the in the gloomy dusk. He shouldn't have waited so long to get the damn milk. It would be dark by the time he got back and he was missing prime time to ignore his problems and kick Jaeger’s ass in Halo (only to get creamed by Mikasa, who might as well be on her own team instead of pairing up with Armin and Eren). _Marco would have loved to watch,_ Jean thought. He probably would have laughed when Connie or Sasha killed off Jean before he could screw up the mission by playing recklessly. Marco should be there with him.

Jean's murky scowl deepened as he opened the door to the store, and immediately bumped into someone.

_No._

_Fucking._

_Way_.

Standing there in all his freckled glory was Marco fucking Bodt.

Jean's mouth hung open. “Marco?”

The other boy looked shocked, like he saw somebody just rise from the dead. His mouth opened a bit and the piece of long licorice he apparently just bought fell to the floor. Cheeks reddening, Marco quickly picked up the fallen candy, now covered with specks of dirt, even though they both knew that he was not going to eat it now.

Jean watched as his eyes slowly softened with misery and then hardened exponentially with anger. _“Excuse me,”_ he signed, and pushed past Jean, who was so caught off guard that he flinched out of the way like he had been electrocuted.

“Marco!” He grabbed the boy's sleeve and ran in front of him. He didn't know what he was doing. He just did it. “Marco, can we talk? Please.”

His mouth tightened but Marco did follow Jean's lips. He was listening.

Jean wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and started to sign. _“I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve for you to talk to me or to read my white board or help me with math because I’m dumb as shit or anything that you could possibly offer to me, but I would rather eat that gravelly piece of licorice in your hand and ten thousand more of them than not to try to apologize to you. I didn’t mean it.”_

Jean’s hand movements were clunky and slow, but Marco seemed to be following along very well. And he didn’t look happy.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” Jean scrambled, switching to speaking. “I know that it was offensive, but I really just want to move past this. I just…I just want you back.” Jean’s heart pounded against his ribs.

Marco still looked angry.

 _And he should be_ , a voice in his head whispered. _You have no idea what it’s like for him at all, do you?_

Finally, it was Marco’s turn to speak.

“You know something, Jean? I’ve been dealing with people saying things like that ever since I lost my hearing. The amount of times that I’ve seen someone call me stupid for not being able to hear them is more than I care to count. And the only people who stuck by me this entire time were Bertholt and Reiner, who have been my friends since I was five, and then Annie when I was seven, after Bert introduced us. All three of them stuck by me, stuck up for me when no one else would. They treated me like a _person_. Not a disability…” he trailed off, his angry face suddenly staring at the ground. 

“I had someone. Before all of this.” He gestured to his useless ears. “We said we would always be together and then _this_ happened and suddenly I wasn’t worth it anymore. She said something about not being able to communicate with me properly. Funny, right?” Jean could hear his heart breaking as Marco laughed, pain clearly visible in his eyes despite the growing darkness around them. “I couldn’t hear her anymore, so she didn’t want to hear me.”

He smiled with shiny eyes. “And then I met you, and it was like there was hope for me again. I was terrified when you told me you wanted to be with me. I was afraid that I would be abandoned again. I thought…I thought things would be different this time. That I would be able to find someone on the same frequency as me. Someone who thought I was worth it. I thought that was _you_ , Jean.”

“It _is_ me, Marco,” Jean said with a strangled voice.

“Maybe it is.” One perfect, and yet dreadful tear spilled over Marco’s eye. “But not right now.”

“Please...” Jean grabbed his hand but he pulled away quickly.

“I can’t be around you.” He turned his back to Jean, his head cast down and his shoulders slightly trembling. “Because if I’m around you, I’ll forget myself. I’ll forget the stronger person I became to live through things like this. I’ll lose myself in you.”

 _But I_ want _to lose myself in you! I want to forget myself and be whoever the hell I have to be to be near you. I want us to be messy and wrong and horrible for each other if it means I get to stay with you!_ Jean wanted to scream. But he didn’t. Marco wouldn’t, and probably didn’t want to, hear him say it.

He reached out and touched Marco’s arm instead, tugging at the fabric of his sweater. Marco looked back, his eyes red and cheeks damp.

Brushing Marco’s jaw with the tips of his fingers, a tear finally spilling over in a moment that could define him forever, Jean smiled.

“I love you, Marco Bodt.”

Marco inhaled sharply and darted his face forward, his soft lips finally coming to rest on Jean’s cracked and dry mouth. He was only there for a second before his pleasant warmth against Jean’s face disappeared, and Jean opened his eyes to see Marco, with tears shining against his speckled skin run for the crosswalk, the red hand blinking furiously at him.

Jean froze and his stomach fell out from under him.

“NO! MARCO STOP!”

Jean’s voice rang out in a strangled cry as the screeching of breaks shrilled through the air, falling upon deaf ears.

He was suddenly there; hand reaching out to pull Marco’s body away from the metal speeding towards him, but Jean’s fingers grabbed nothing except air as the deafening crunch of metal and asphalt grinding together reverberated outward. Marco flashed out of view and a sudden vibration blasted Jean off his feet, skidding and rolling to the hard ground. His entire right side screamed in pain but a soothing ringing filled his ears.

He blinked hard and looked for Marco. All he could see was a blight orange, hazy glow all around him and a dark shadow of a contorted car shape rising up from the ground.

And a dark liquid draining towards him.

Stumbling forwards, Jean rushed towards the figure collapsed under the twisted metal. His shaking hands touched the wet skin of Marco’s face. His lips peeled back from his teeth and his eyes were unfocused and dark. The right part of his body was negative space. The stench of burning flesh spiked through his nose and Jean heaved beside him, darkness throbbing at the edge of his vision. He fell heavily, his cheek spattered against the cool pavement.

The ringing grew louder, drowning everything else out.

Nothing existed but the sound of the white noise.

And then nothing existed at all.

 

~***~

 

_“Hell yeah. I need all the help I can get, otherwise Jaeger's going to be riding my ass about how he got a higher mark than me for the rest of my life,” Jean said, his adorable infectious smile growing more genuine with every word._

_Marco loved that smile. He loved—_

Wait. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Take it slower, _Marco chided to himself._ You'll get hurt all over again. _A little bubble of panic grew in his chest before it was suddenly smothered out by the bright hazel eyes looking back at him. That calming effect Jean had on him was incredible, especially since Jean himself wasn’t calm at all. He was a hurricane of emotion tethered to a small rocky island. But maybe that tiny stable foundation was what drew him to Marco. Maybe it was what kept him from running away this time._

_Marco quickly let any emotion on his face drain away, trying to avoid giving Jean any insight as to what an embarrassingly romantic thing he was about to sign. He didn’t want him to know. Not yet anyway._

_He lifted his hands and began to sign; letting only the tiniest of smiles escape his lips._

“I really like you, Jean. I wish you could speak to me like this but I also don’t. You’re so cute when you’re confused. And I’m afraid that I like you too much. Please don’t push me away. Please tell me that I’m worth it.”

_“What did you say?” Jean looked really bewildered: an endearing furrowing of his brows that made Marco’s façade slip._

_He smiled into the sky._

_“Nothing, Jean. Maybe I'll teach you one day."_

Maybe one day.

~***~

 

Jean woke to silence.

For a moment he thought he had cotton in his ears. He could never remember a time in his life that is was so peaceful. He could have heard a butterfly’s wings flap in this dead silence.

It was so quiet.

He could almost go back to sleep. He could go back to dreaming of Marc—

His heart jolted and he flinched to a sitting position on the bed, ignoring the desperate stabs of pain coming from his right side.

He was in a white hospital room. Wires and tubes protruding out of him like branches on a tree. He looked to the side slowly, ignoring the dull ache of his skin and saw the heart monitor spike in rhythm. He thought it was strange that the beeping was muted.

A movement caught his eye and he was shocked he didn’t notice Connie and Sasha enter the room. They looked like they had been through hell. Sasha’s hand was clasped tightly in his, like it was the only thing holding her to this earth. To this room. Her eyes were swollen and red. Connie’s face was pale, bloodshot eyes dampening slowly. In her hands was a small white board. Jean watched as she scribbled something with a marker Connie handed to her.

Jean suddenly got pissed off. She had no right to use that board. Why couldn’t she just talk to him? Why wasn’t Sasha just talking to him instead of writing it down? Jean felt water spill down his cheeks. _Why the hell is she using_ our _board?_   _She shouldn’t use it. It’s_ our _thing. Not hers._ _Why aren’t they talking to me? Why won’t they say something? Say something!_

Sasha held up the board.

_“I’m so sorry. He’s gone.”_

Jean could feel himself whisper his name out loud, but he couldn’t hear it. He felt the word coming out of his mouth, but it made no sound. Nothing made any sound. _“Tell me that’s not true,_ ”he pleaded.

It was too quiet.

Sasha looked at Connie, heartbroken, and wrote something again.

_“You wouldn’t hear it if I did.”_

Jean’s eyes squeezed closed, his wet eyelashes clinging together for dear life. He looked again at them.

 _“Can you talk to us about what happened?”_ Sasha’s fingers clung to the edge of the white board. It was shaking. She was shaking.

…

_…talk to you…_

_…_

He shook his head.

 

Because if he was perfectly honest, there was absolutely nothing left to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha. Please don't kill me. ;-;  
> It really wasn't supposed to end this way, but then inspiration struck and it just...it was meant to be. I hope it wasn't too disappointing.
> 
> To sooth your achy hearts, there's going to be a oneshot sequel that is entirely fluff and cuteness for the whole gang. Marco included. :)
> 
> Come harass me about the ending at my tumblr [canofwhoopasstiel.tumblr.com.](http://canofwhoopasstiel.tumblr.com/)  
> If you want me to see something on tumblr, tag it with fic: nothing left to say. I track that one. :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this fic and being the best readers ever! You guys are literally the sweetest people and I hope you don't hate me too much. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/Kudos are appreciated!


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